


Things

by 9r7g5h



Category: Wreck-It Ralph (2012)
Genre: F/M, Fiction, Gen, Literature, Short Stories, family life, prose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-15
Updated: 2014-11-15
Packaged: 2018-02-25 11:03:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2619395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/9r7g5h/pseuds/9r7g5h
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They gave her many different things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Things

**Author's Note:**

> This is story two in the ‘post all the crap’ series. Sorry!
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Wreck It Ralph. Disney does.

When her game had first been plugged in, Tamora had awoken to find she had almost nothing to her name.

She had her title, a necessity for her game. She had her men’s respect and undying loyalty; again, something she had been programmed with because it was part of _Hero’s Duty._ Besides her gun, her armor, and her cruiser, the only other things Tamora could call her own were a bedroom separated from the rest of the barracks due to her gender and rank, a set of civvies she had found in the bin under her cot, a bloody wedding dress, and more than enough nightmares to drive a lesser man crazy. She had never been one for material possession, so, for the entire first week she had been alive, those had been enough.

That had soon changed after she met the others.

Vanellope was the first to give her a gift, something she could call her own that she hadn’t been programmed with. 

“It’s a picture,” the little girl had said with a smile as she described the different colored blobs, reliving the events that had ended in their tentative friendship. “That’s Ralph, the one with the fat face, and that’s Felix holding his hammer, and that one’s me, driving my cart, and the black and yellow one’s you! You’re shooting the black and green cybug!” The princess-turn-president’s smile had been infectious as she glitched her way into Tamora’s arms, one of her own wrapped around the woman’s neck for support as the other pointed out each character of their new, strange little family. “And if you flip it over,” Vanellope had continued excitedly, almost tearing the picture as she took it from Tamora’s free hand so she could show the backside, “that’s the picnic we all went on last week. There’s Ralph again, the red one whose smashing the goomba because it stole his cherry, and there’s Felix trying to avoid the ducks from Duck Hunt that had come to ask Mario for a mushroom. Oh, and there’s me laughing, and there’s you threaten to mush the leader’s head if they don’t leave us and our toast alone!”

“These are great, kid,” Tamora had replied with a smile, partly biting her lip to keep from laughing at the mess their outing had turned into just a few days ago, “but why are you showing me this?”

“Because it’s yours,” Vanellope had said before glitching her way out the door, calling over her shoulder that, if she didn’t leave then, she would be late for the random roster race. 

A lie if Tamora had ever heard one, for she knew for a fact the race had been over three hours ago. She had been there to watch it. However, it was one she let go, for her mind had still been focused on the first real gift she had ever been given in her entire three months alive.

Of course, to call it her first ‘gift’ would be misleading, for Felix had taken it upon himself to shower her with presents each day he saw her, which was almost every. Flowers, cakes, pies; if it was edible or died, you could name it and Felix would have brought it for her. Once, she had even teased him about liking larger woman that smelled of roses, for, as she had pointed out, with the rate she was going through the baked goods he brought and the teasing comments on how nice she smelled from her men, that was exactly what she was going to turn out to be. So, perhaps it would be better to categorize Vanellope’s picture as her first keep-able present she treasured, for, in reality, that was exactly what it was. 

The first thing she had done that night, once she had regained control of her thought process and emotions, was touch the powdery substance that had been used to make the picture and lick it from her fingers. Once she had confirmed it was some sort of colored sugar, the second thing she had done was hunt down a picture frame, secure the paper behind the glass covering so it was safe from ants, and hang it on her wall. 

After that, the things just started to accumulate.

It had continued with Lana-a Nicelander who had taken a liking to sewing to help pass her free time-noticing that, when she was not in her armor, Tamora always wore the exact same outfit. Taking it upon herself to decide every woman needed a decent selection of clothing to fit any occasion, two weeks after the Nicelander had asked to take her measurements for a ‘project,’ Tamora found herself with more dresses, tank tops, shirts, pants, and pajamas then she knew what to do with, and a creator who refused her every attempt to pay her back. 

“It was the least I could do, dearie,” the woman had said with a giggle when Tamora had tried to thank her. “You already do so much for us, keeping us all safe from those horrible bugs, and you’ve made Felix the happiest he’s ever been. All I want is to see his face when he sees you in one of my dresses, and that’s all the thanks I’ll need!” Of course, Tamora had done just that and more, recommending any character she talked to who wanted a new outfit to the Nicelander until Lana had been able to open her own side business, a development that greatly pleased the eight-bit designer.

From there, between the hundreds of gift-giving celebrations the arcade characters of Litwak’s had created over the years to keep themselves amused, the number of things Tamora owned increased almost beyond control, covering her walls with decorations and filling the wardrobe someone had given her with knick-knacks and trinkets, little things that kept her company when she had to spend her time in her rooms. Cute, but they never really gained any sentimental value. 

The second thing she received that Tamora could say she truly treasured was a book from Ralph.

Books, in an arcade, were rare. Because very few programmers ever thought about their characters after game play was complete, virtually no games contained anything other than the reading material that was absolutely necessary, most of which were training guides and ‘How To’s incase their memories needed to be refreshed about what it was they did each and every day. Some of the more creative characters had tried to write books for their fellow cast members to read, but had ultimately been defeated by a lack of printing materials, instead keeping their stories to be told by mouth to a waiting audience. For characters like her, who had both been programmed with and who had developed a strong love of literature, this lack of written words was devastating when boredom hit.

Flushing red as he pushed it into her hands, Ralph had quickly stuttered out that Felix had mentioned she liked to read before lumbering off, his head bowed as he headed straight for Tappers.

It had turned out to be a book of fairy tales, written in Ralph’s blocky, almost childish scrawl that was the result of too small pencils for his overly large hands. A collection of _all_ of the stories, legends, and myths that had developed within each of the games in the arcade, the book was huge, almost large enough to send her toppling when it had been placed in her arms. While flipping through the pages, delighted to see so many tales that would keep her more than busy on her nights at home, it had occurred to Tamora that it must have taken Ralph months to find and record everything within the book just for her, not to mention the cost that would accumulated as he bought the paper and writing utensils he would have needed to create it.

The next time she saw him, instead of her normal welcoming punch to the arm, Tamora found herself giving the larger man the first hug not directed towards Felix or Vanellope since she was plugged in, an action that was received and happily returned by the wrecker as he realized what it was for.  

Out of their little group of ragtag misfits, Felix, surprisingly, was actually the last to give her something she truly cherished. 

Not that she was ever expecting anything; in fact, she had explicitly told him, many times, that she didn’t want something from him. The constant stream of baked goods and flowers was already bad enough, but at least she could share the food with her gruel tired men and, after they’d discovered cybugs became extremely vulnerable to all types of weapons after eating a handful of petals, the dead plants could be repurposed for her bullets. So, these she continued to accept, on the condition he help her eat at least some of the food and have the final decision on where the flowers were to be placed. 

It was a system she was comfortable with, something she had grown used to and even enjoyed. Then, in a way only the eight-bit handyman could have, he went and made it better. 

“Ants in your pants, short stack, or are you just that excited to show me where we’re going?”

Laughing as Felix froze mid-step at her words, Tamora motioned for him to continue on, her curiosity for where he was talking her overriding her desire to find out why he was twitchier than a cricket in a bowl of Mexican jumping beans. Although keeping still wasn’t one of his talents, she had never seen him so fidgety; whatever he had in mind for their evening alone obviously weighed heavily on him. Ready to reach out and grab him should he trip over a tree root or something else along those lines, she didn’t notice when he finally came to a stop, almost tripping herself as she skidded to a halt and took in the firefly illuminated pond before her. 

“D-do you like it, Tammy,” Felix stuttered as he looked up at her, eyes wide as he waited for a response. He was fiddling with something in his pocket, she noticed, something small and square that could have easily fit into the palm of her hand were she to hold it. Briefly raising an eyebrow, she smiled and nodded before plopping to the ground, her arms wrapping around him to pull him into her lap. Placing a kiss against his cheek as he relaxed against her, Tamora’s voice was soft as she watched the glowing, eight-bit bugs move before them, lighting up the pond in a dance she couldn’t understand.

“It’s wonderful, Felix,” Tamora whispered, “but why don’t we skip the part where you beat around the bush and you tell me why we’re here?”

“Just because it is so pretty, Ma’am,” Felix replied with a shrug, his nerves suddenly gone now that the issue was being confronted, “and because, well, I wanted to give you this.”

It was a locket, Tamora finally realized as Felix pulled the box free from his pocket and opened it for her, showing the small, silver heart that lay in its center. Old, something that looked like it had been made many years before his game had even been plugged in and poorly maintained, but beautiful nonetheless. Watching with interest as he opened it up, she began quickly blinking as the group of faces stared up at her, trying to keep her eyesight clear. 

“Kohut gave me the picture,” Felix said, pointing toward the right side and the group photo of her and her men that had been taken the day before they set out for their mod forsaken nameless planet. A dozen names and faces that had never been anything more than backstory lept at her, reminders of the men she had lost to their mechanical plague. Friends, almost family, boys she would have given anything to have back in her platoon, all smiling pretty for the camera her second in command had stolen from the supplies closet. It hurt, seeing them look so excited when she knew what was to come, but the hurt was okay. 

“You didn’t put anything in the left,” Tamora pointed out with a sniff, releasing him for a moment to swipe at her eyes, clearing them of the dust that the nonexistent wind had kicked into them. 

“Thought you could do that yourself, sweetie,” he replied, tilting his head to kiss the underside of her jaw, smiling lightly as he reached up to cup her cheek. “This way, you get to choose what’s on the left side of your heart.”

It would take a little while, but, soon enough, the blank space in the locket would be filled. Filled with a picture of a little racer coloring her paper, a wrecker reading next to her, and a fixer staring at her with hearts around his head, a reminder of the make shift little family that lived in the locket that never left her neck. 

When she’d first woken up, she’d had nothing. They’d quickly changed that.


End file.
